


tied up and menaced

by aavid



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Rape, Sexual Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:12:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aavid/pseuds/aavid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg finds out that John and Sarah are quite compatible under the right circumstances. Unfortunately, someone else has ideas about who should be on top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tied up and menaced

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hanners for the [sherlock_rant fic exchange](http://sherlock-rant.livejournal.com/10843.html). Happy Rantmas! 
> 
> Pt 2 as soon as I get access to it.

Greg noticed the woman sitting beside Dr Watson at the rear of the ambulance after the crew had bundled away the dead man (spectacularly impaled) and officers had proceeded to the on-scene interviews. John lurked close beside her, proprietary and protective, but she seemed closed in on herself and didn't respond with any warmth to his touches. She looked well in control of herself (more than he realised until he took her formal statement later), and utterly sensible. She was very pretty.

So was his wife.

+

He didn't ask John about her until almost a year later. Fuck it. John had clearly moved on, several times from the look of things; so had Vicki, and fuck her too. 

How was Sarah doing, he wanted to know. Was she seeing anyone? It'd been quite a while, it wouldn't be inappropriate anymore for the detective to approach the witness. She was upset, she'd said then, and worried about John, but she wasn't traumatized. Greg probably wouldn't be pushing his luck too much. Not any more than a bloke usually pushes his luck with a woman who earns twice his salary.

Fuck his luck, Sarah Sawyer was hot. Brave and sensible, brooking no shit, lioness in a milkmaid's clothing: hot. He bit both lips to keep from smiling at the memory of that last assessing look over her shoulder as she hoisted her bag and left the room. Her eyes were light-coloured. Grey, he thought. He was too polite to think about the smooth spread of her backside.

John shifted on the cold bench and looked away from him with an odd expression, breath steaming from his nose. No, he didn't think Sarah was dating anyone. He wouldn't know for sure, hadn't worked with her for a few months. An ex-boyfriend had surfaced to harass her, and John made a big show of being present for a while, but the guy disappeared and John and Sarah went their own ways.

John laid his hand on Greg's shoulder as they parted, a lingering touch. Faint warmth on the still air as he moved.

“Give me a call sometime. I like to run along Regent's Canal.”

+

Greg didn't call Sarah. He didn't call John or anyone. Once the ecstatic fury of his freedom drained away – in a holiday cabana, on a broken-down mattress in an untidy flat, in a doorless bathroom stall in Shepherd's Bush, his breathless grunts giving way to a breathless shout and a trail of spunk on the cistern – the gloom of advancing age and amatory failure poured in to replace it. It wasn't worth the trouble. 

Work was all right; he went to the gym across the street, nothing else to do after. Had a leisurely wank in the living room, had a croissant, watched _Top Gear_ and _Lawrence of Arabia_. Bought a new blazer: black, cut slim. New shoes. His plate glass reflection in Great Peter Street was doing fine. Just fine.

“Hello, Inspector,” someone called out as he strode along the pavement. Sarah waved and trotted across the street, careful in low-heeled pumps. “What luck. John said you were asking after me. And here we are.” There was that sweet appraisal again, up and down this time, a little frown. Eyes definitely grey. Milkmaid blouse.

“How are you doing?” she asked. “You're not looking so hot.”

Well, that stung. 

She hurried to amend her gaffe. “Speaking as a doctor of course. A meal might help – come to lunch?”

“Already had mine, just walking it off. Sorry.” 

“Dinner, then.” She tucked her smooth amber hair behind one ear and raised her eyebrows. 

+

She picked him up in a little blue Fiat at six. Cream silk shell under a fitted brown coat, skirt wrapped just high enough to spotlight the motion of her breasts and barely, barely long enough to be “nice”. Greg wished he'd had time for a shower. He buttoned his jacket over a grease spot on his tie. He felt stupid and unbuttoned it again.

“I hope you don't mind if a friend joins us for dessert.” Sarah flicked a glance at him as she shifted gears and pulled into traffic.

“No, that's fine.” Greg decided that was the truth. Get to know her a bit, meet her friends first – maybe that was what he liked about dating women. After Vicki, he didn't want to move too fast.

+++

Sarah cut off the fat browned edge of her meat and nibbled it as she answered his questions. Not abstemious by habit, she didn't plan to eat much tonight. 

“Sherlock was an issue, yes. The insults were one thing, but you can only be stood up so many times.”

“It's kind of part of the job, though. Bloggers. Cops.” Greg watched her askance, clearly braced for rejection. 

“Most cops don't live at the crime scene.” She licked a savory droplet off her upper lip. “Anyway, I'm not keen on being tied up and menaced.”

She put a little heat into the word “menaced” and saw an answering flush of heat surge past Greg's collar, all the way to his ears. 

It had been awful, the fear afterward. She couldn't play hard with John at all after that. They'd made up later, and later again, but it was a sore spot between them. Still, she'd met Greg there, and now here he was, squirming very prettily in his seat.

“Yeah. Um. Yeah, I imagine that was pretty rough.” 

“As it turned out, John wasn't into being tied up, either. Stalemate.” Sarah held his gaze as she spoke, hoping she'd pegged him right.

The penny teetered, teetered and dropped; his mouth fell a little open, his eyes darkened, and she couldn't suppress the grin that crept across her face. She took a quick drink of water and motioned for the bill. “Let's go meet my friend.”

+++ 

John had got Sarah's text at six thirty, stopped by the druggist's, and was leaning with cool nonchalance against an iron bollard at his assigned corner by quarter past seven. As the pair approached, Greg recognised him and stopped in his tracks. Without pausing in her stride, Sarah plucked up the end of his tie and tugged him firmly along. He swung his arms in mock protest, but John could see a light of intrigue in his disbelieving half-smile.

“Hi, Sarah.” John passed his arm around her waist, warm and familiar, laid a little smooch on her cheek, and squinted suspiciously at Greg. “Who's your friend?”

“Just some copper I met on the street.”

Sarah linked elbows with both men and escorted them casually along. 

“You know the place I'm thinking of?” 

John nodded. “Sweets shop at the end of the alley.”

“That's the one.” 

Greg didn't look quite sure of his place. “Don't let me horn in on your date or anything.” 

John exchanged a significant glance with Sarah and she let go of him. He swung around and slipped his hand into the crook of Greg's arm. “Not a chance, mate.” 

+

“Is it okay to put that there?” 

Greg watched Sarah's fingers disappear beneath her skirt. He was breathing fast, licking his lips and shifting on his feet, but he hadn't bolted yet and John didn't think he would. Sarah pulled her mouth away from John's, and he inhaled against her hair, pressing her shoulders against the white-painted bricks.

“I'm a doctor,” she said. “It's fine.”

Greg's expression flickered on the doubtful edge of a smile, and Sarah tugged his collar lightly to bring him in for a kiss. He gave it to her, tentative, still uncertain of his welcome. 

Tucked against her other side, the crest of her pelvis firm and warm under his palm, John inhaled their scents – light perfume on her jacket, the faintest trace of shaving gel and perspiration. 

Greg's lips met Sarah's and his gaze lifted. John exhaled with an involuntary whimper as Greg's eyes met his and the blood hit his groin; he'd watched Greg for months, admired the slope of his shoulders and his understated wit. He'd enjoyed planning the surprise date, but he hadn't realised how much he wanted this. He leaned toward the kiss. Greg inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, but John pulled back at the last second and slid down, skimming his hand along the front of Sarah's thighs and catching one finger under the edge of her skirt. 

As he went to his knees and nuzzled up into the dark, she squeezed her legs together with a high-pitched sigh against Greg's mouth. John pulled her panties down just far enough to slide his tongue along the edge of her tight slit, pressing close to lick at the hair in the little gap below, and curling his tongue hard upward, probing into the clove-slick heat. Greg's hand trailed across the top of his head, and John licked and sucked after the hidden sweet, pressing his erection down where it hardened along his left leg, breathing out little whines in counterpoint to Sarah's. Greg's leg brushed his arm. He jumped slightly as John slid his hand up to the ticklish back of his knee. 

One hand on Greg and the other wrapped around Sarah's hip, John pursued his search between her thighs then ah!, he won his prize. He manoeuvered the hard sweet nub into his mouth and gave Sarah's clit a last slippery caress. She ran her hand down his cheek, and he levered himself up with one hand against the bricks.

Greg opened easily to him as he pressed close and passed the sugar with his tongue.

+++

The man in the shadows of the loading dock held his breath and worked his cock harder as the revolting old poofs rutted against each other. The short one reached into his pants to adjust his dick. He was awfully noisy. The bitch was rubbing off watching them, and wasn't that just like her, calling the shots with her skirt rucked up and her own fingers in her cunt. It made him want to puke.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Graphic non-consensual sexual violence in part 2.


End file.
